Three Musketeers (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) (36 page)

“I am sure of it.”

“That is an important point, do you understand?”

“Then the news I brought you is of value?”

“The greatest, my dear Bonacieux; I don’t conceal this from you.”

“Then the cardinal will be pleased with me?”

“I have no doubt of it.”

“The great cardinal!”

“Are you sure, in her conversation with you, that your wife mentioned no names?”

“I think not.”

“She did not name Madame de Chevreuse, the Duke of Buckingham, or Madame de Vernet?”

“No; she only told me she wished to send me to London to serve the interests of an illustrious personage.”

“The traitor!” murmured Mme. Bonacieux.

“Silence!” said D’Artagnan, taking her hand, which, without thinking of it, she abandoned to him.

“Never mind,” continued the man in the cloak; “you were a fool not to have pretended to accept the mission. You would then be in present possession of the letter. The state, which is now threatened, would be safe, and you—”

“And I?”

“Well, you—the cardinal would have given you letters of nobility.”

“Did he tell you so?”

“Yes, I know that he meant to afford you that agreeable surprise.”

“Be satisfied,” replied Bonacieux; “my wife adores me, and there is yet time.”

“The ninny!” murmured Mme. Bonacieux.

“Silence!” said D’Artagnan, pressing her hand more closely.

“How is there still time?” asked the man in the cloak.

“I go to the Louvre; I ask for Mme. Bonacieux; I say that I have reflected; I renew the affair; I obtain the letter, and I run directly to the cardinal.”

“Well, go quickly! I will return soon to learn the result of your trip.”

The stranger went out.

“Infamous!” said Mme. Bonacieux, addressing this epithet to her husband.

“Silence!” said D’Artagnan, pressing her hand still more warmly.

A terrible howling interrupted these reflections of D’Artagnan and Mme. Bonacieux. It was her husband, who had discovered the disappearance of the moneybag, and was crying, “Thieves! ”

“Oh, my God,” cried Mme. Bonacieux, “he will rouse the whole quarter.”

Bonacieux called a long time; but as such cries, on account of their frequency, brought nobody in the Rue des Fossoyeurs, and as lately the mercer’s house had a bad name, finding that nobody came, he went out continuing to call, his voice being heard fainter and fainter as he went in the direction of the Rue du Bac.

“Now he is gone, it is your turn to get out,” said Mme. Bonacieux. “Courage, my friend, but above all, prudence, and think what you owe to the queen.”

“To her and to you!” cried D’Artagnan. “Be satisfied, beautiful Constance. I shall become worthy of her gratitude; but shall I likewise return worthy of your love?”

The young woman only replied by the beautiful glow which mounted to her cheeks. A few seconds afterward D’Artagnan also went out enveloped in a large cloak, which ill-concealed the sheath of a long sword.

Mme. Bonacieux followed him with her eyes, with that long, fond look with which a woman accompanies the man she loves; but when he had turned the angle of the street, she fell on her knees, and clasping her hands, “Oh, my God,” cried she, “protect the queen, protect me!”

D
’Artagnan went straight to M. de Tréville’s. He had reflected that in a few minutes the cardinal would be warned by this cursed stranger, who appeared to be his agent, and he judged, with reason, he had not a moment to lose.

The heart of the young man overflowed with joy. An opportunity presented itself to him in which there would be at the same time glory to be acquired, and money to be gained; and as a far higher encouragement, it brought him into close intimacy with a woman he adored. This chance did, then, for him at once more than he would have dared to ask of Providence.

M. de Tréville was in his saloon with his habitual court of gentlemen. D’Artagnan, who was known as a familiar of the house, went straight to his office, and sent word that he wished to see him on something of importance.

D’Artagnan had been there scarcely five minutes when M. de Tréville entered. At the first glance, and by the joy which was painted on his countenance, the worthy captain plainly perceived that something new was on foot.

All the way along D’Artagnan had been consulting with himself whether he should place confidence in M. de Tréville, or whether he should only ask him to give him
carte blanche
for some secret affair. But M. de Tréville had always been so thoroughly his friend, had always been so devoted to the king and queen, and hated the cardinal so cordially, that the young man resolved to tell him everything.

“Did you ask for me, my good friend?” said M. de Tréville.

“Yes, monsieur,” said D’Artagnan. “You will pardon me, I hope, for having disturbed you, when you know the importance of my business.”

“Speak, then; I listen to you.”

“It concerns nothing less,” said D’Artagnan, lowering his voice, “than the honor, perhaps the life, of the queen.”

“What do you say?” asked M. de Tréville, glancing round to see if they were surely alone, and then fixing his questioning look upon D’Artagnan.

“I say, monsieur, that chance has rendered me master of a secret—”

“Which you will guard, I hope, young man, as your life.”

“But which I must impart to you, monsieur, for you alone can assist me in the mission I have just received from her Majesty.”

“Is this secret your own?”

“No, monsieur; it is her Majesty’s.”

“Are you authorized by her Majesty to communicate it to me?”

“No, monsieur, for, on the contrary, I am desired to preserve the profoundest mystery.”

“Why, then, are you about to betray it to me?”

“Because, as I said, without you I can do nothing; and I am afraid you will refuse me the favor I come to ask if you do not know to what end I ask it.”

“Keep your secret, young man, and tell me what you wish.”

“I wish you to obtain for me, from Monsieur Dessessart, leave of absence for fifteen days.”

“When?”

“This very night.”

“You leave Paris?”

“I am going on a mission.”

“May you tell me whither?”

“To London.”

“Has anyone an interest in preventing your arrival there?”

“The cardinal, I believe, would give the world to prevent my success.”

“And you are going alone?”

“I am going alone.”

“In that case you will not get beyond Bondy. I tell you so, by the faith of De Tréville.”

“How so?”

“You will be assassinated.”

“And I shall die in the performance of my duty.”

“But your mission will not be accomplished.”

“That is true,” replied D’Artagnan.

“Believe me,” continued Tréville, “in enterprises of this kind, in order that one may arrive, four must set out.”

“Ah, you are right, monsieur,” said D’Artagnan; “but you know Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, and you know if I can dispose of them.”

“Without confiding to them the secret which I am not willing to know?”

“We are sworn, once for all, to implicit confidence and devotedness against all proof. Besides, you can tell them that you have full confidence in me, and they will not be more incredulous than you.”

“I can send to each of them leave of absence for fifteen days, that is all—to Athos, whose wound still makes him suffer, to go to the waters of Forges; to Porthos and Aramis to accompany their friend, whom they are not willing to abandon in such a painful condition. Sending their leave of absence will be proof enough that I authorize their journey.”

“Thanks, monsieur. You are a hundred times too good.”

“Begone, then, find them instantly, and let all be done tonight! Ha! but first write your request to Dessessart. Perhaps you had a spy at your heels; and your visit, if it should ever be known to the cardinal, will thus seem legitimate.”

D‘Artagnan drew up his request, and M. de Tréville, on receiving it, assured him that by two o’clock in the morning the four leaves of absence should be at the respective domiciles of the travelers.

“Have the goodness to send mine to Athos’s residence. I should dread some disagreeable encounter if I were to go home.”

“Be easy. Adieu, and a prosperous voyage.
A propos,”
said M. de Tréville, calling him back.

D’Artagnan returned.

“Have you any money?”

D’Artagnan tapped the bag he had in his pocket.

“Enough?” asked M. de Tréville.

“Three hundred pistoles.”

“Oh, plenty! That would carry you to the end of the world. Begone, then!”

D‘Artagnan saluted M. de Tréville, who held out his hand to him; D’Artagnan pressed it with a respect mixed with gratitude. Since his first arrival at Paris, he had had constant occasion to honor this excellent man, whom he had always found worthy, loyal, and great.

His first visit was to Aramis, at whose residence he had not been since the famous evening on which he had followed Mme. Bonacieux. Still further, he had seldom seen the young Musketeer; but every time he had seen him, he had remarked a deep sadness imprinted on his countenance.

This evening, especially, Aramis was melancholy and thoughtful. D’Artagnan asked some questions about this prolonged melancholy. Aramis pleaded as his excuse a commentary upon the eighteenth chapter of St. Augustine, which he was forced to write in Latin for the following week, and which preoccupied him a good deal.

After the two friends had been chatting a few moments, a servant from M. de Tréville entered, bringing a sealed packet.

“What is that?” asked Aramis.

“The leave of absence Monsieur has asked for,” replied the lackey.

“For me! I have asked for no leave of absence.”

“Hold your tongue and take it!” said D’Artagnan. “And you, my friend, there is a demipistole for your trouble; you will tell Monsieur de Tréville that Monsieur Aramis is very much obliged to him. Go.”

The lackey bowed to the ground and departed.

“What does all this mean?” asked Aramis.

“Pack up all you want for a journey of a fortnight, and follow me.”

“But I cannot leave Paris just now without knowing—”

Aramis stopped.

“What is become of her? I suppose you mean—” continued D’Artagnan.

“Become of whom?” replied Aramis.

“The woman who was here—the woman with the embroidered handkerchief.”

“Who told you there was a woman here?” replied Aramis, becoming as pale as death.

“I saw her.”

“And you know who she is?”

“I believe I can guess, at least.”

“Listen!” said Aramis. “Since you appear to know so many things, can you tell me what is become of that woman?”

“I presume that she has returned to Tours.”

“To Tours? Yes, that may be. You evidently know her. But why did she return to Tours without telling me anything?”

“Because she was in fear of being arrested.”

“Why has she not written to me, then?”

“Because she was afraid of compromising you.”

“D’Artagnan, you restore me to life!” cried Aramis. “I fancied myself despised, betrayed. I was so delighted to see her again! I could not have believed she would risk her liberty for me, and yet for what other cause could she have returned to Paris?”

“For the cause which today takes us to England.”

“And what is this cause?” demanded Aramis.

“Oh, you’ll know it someday, Aramis; but at present I must imitate the discretion of ‘the doctor’s niece.’”

Aramis smiled, as he remembered the tale he had told his friends on a certain evening. “Well, then, since she has left Paris, and you are sure of it, D’Artagnan, nothing prevents me, and I am ready to follow you. You say we are going—”

“To see Athos now, and if you will come thither, I beg you to make haste, for we have lost much time already.
A propos,
inform Bazin.”

“Will Bazin go with us?” asked Aramis.

“Perhaps so. At all events, it is best that he should follow us to Athos’s.”

Aramis called Bazin, and, after having ordered him to join them at Athos’s residence, said, “Let us go, then,” at the same time taking his cloak, sword, and three pistols, opening uselessly two or three drawers to see if he could not find stray coin. When well assured this search was superfluous, he followed D’Artagnan, wondering to himself how this young Guardsman should know so well who the lady was to whom he had given hospitality, and that he should know better than himself what had become of her.

Only as they went out Aramis placed his hand upon the arm of D’Artagnan, and looking at him earnestly, “You have not spoken of this lady?” said he.